The Forgiven
by Jennifer Lynn Weston
Summary: His luck run out at last, Jack Sparrow lies dying on the Pearl's deck. But he can't let go yet. Liz has found him, and they have things to say to each other. Perhaps not quite what either expected. Sad but sweet. PG for implied gore, character death.


_'Pirates of the Caribbean' belongs to Disney._

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/_Do yah fear death?_/

/_You've no idea._/

That years-ago exchange echoed mockingly in Jack Sparrow's mind.

/ _'Twould seem, Mr. Jones, that the answer's turned out ta be Yes. I kin be sure it won't be the Locker fer me this time, but at least it'd be a known quantity. As is, I don't know what I'm headed fer... an' such uncertainty is indeed frightening. Though won't hardly do ta let it show.._./

Captain Sparrow was lying on his side beside the _Black Pearl's_ wheel-station, one hand still clutching a spoke. Keeping the ship steady for boarding the _Raven_; the defeated frigate now hard against the port side. The other vessel had been taken following a token exchange of fire. Unfortunately, the last of those shots had downed the _Pearl's_ captain. Just as the grappling hooks had been thrown, one of the _Raven's_ small aft cannons had fired a grapeshot load at the helm. Jack had caught it just below the ribs.

Only the edge of the shot-cluster had struck home, as evidenced by his still being in one piece. But the abundance of red spatters on deck, railing, and wheel told their own grim story. As did the fact that he could not move, or feel anything from, his legs. Spinal damage clearly indicated some shot had gone clear through to the backbone- an invariably fatal injury. In which case the neural severance was actually a blessing, sparing him from far worse agony than he was experiencing. That was bad enough- every breath he took produced sensations akin to red-hot metal slicing his thorax. But, having had long experience coping with pain, from bullets, blades, and branding irons, he was managing to keep it from the forefront of his awareness. Mostly.

None of his crew was yet aware what had happened to him. They were all fully occupied with carrying out their Captain's last order to "Board and secure the cargo!" There was plentiful noise issuing from the _Raven's_ deck, though, to judge from the lack of metallic clangs, the other crew had wisely elected to lay down arms. 'Cept, of course, for that blaggard manning the aft cannonette.

As the commotion quieted down, it occurred to Jack that, with the two vessels now securely roped together, it was probably safe to release the wheel. But he didn't want to let go. He'd always enjoyed the feel of it under his hands, and what it represented; command over his course, his ship, and his life. Apparently that was now over... but he wasn't quite ready to concede.

The pirate wondered if, by clenching his fist really tightly, he might be able to retain his hold even after death- 'twould be a memorable tableau to embellish the Jack Sparrow legend. Though the rest of him probably didn't look quite so heroic... He raised his head, just high enough to glimpse himself. And was appalled at the volume of blood in view. / _A pretty picture I'm going to present, ta whomever has the ill luck ta find me first._ /

He let his head sink down- for one startled moment he thought the sky was bleeding too. Then he recognized the intrusion on the landscape; the red sail of a junk, pulling up to the _Raven's_ further side. So the _Empress_ had caught up. Mrs. Turner would soon have her precious artifact back in hand.

/_ Well, darlin' Liz. I hope that thingee really is as bloody important as you said. 'Cause getting it back ez cost you the only Captain in yer fleet who hain't gunnin' fer yer job._ /

The Pirate King had been somewhat secretive about why it was so crucial to recover the artifact- a sextant originally owned by Henry Morgan- though she'd indicated that particular sextant could be used for purposes other than solar navigation. Very nefarious purposes, in the wrong hands. And there weren't many wronger hands than those of Marquis whatshisname, whose agents had committed the theft.

Jack had agreed to help Elizabeth retrieve the singular sextant as a personal favor to her, and because he was in the mood for a bit of action. 'A bit' was about all he got; he'd chased down the thieves' frigate with his faster craft, and disabled her with one of his trademark strategies that only a madman could successfully carry off. There had actually been a moment, as he'd maneuvered his _Pearl_ into boarding position, when he'd felt a touch of disappointment that the pursuit had been so unchallenging.

That moment now seemed a very long time ago.

Finally, he heard someone climbing back onto the _Pearl's_ main deck, crossing to the quarter-deck staircase. A familiar feminine voice called, "Captain Sparrow! Are you up there?"

The resentment Jack had been feeling towards Elizabeth evaporated with a dismayed realization. She was going to be the one to discover him here, looking like a bad day at an abattoir. Indeed, as her tousled blonde head came into sight up the staircase, her expression twisted to horrified shock, such as he'd only seen there once before. When a young Asian woman stepped up beside her, her face underwent a similar metamorphosis.

Jack tried to smile, but only managed a grimace. "Apologies fer my poor presentation, Liege."

"Nuan, fetch Dr. Hui!" As quickly as the aide dashed off, Elizabeth sprang up to the quarterdeck and bent to examine his injuries.

"Grapeshot," Jack explained.

Having made a fast assessment, Elizabeth tossed her jerkin aside, yanked off her linen shirt, drew a knife and cut the garment into strips. Jack felt fleeting regret that he was in no condition to enjoy the view.

Placing hands under his shoulder and hip, she warned, "Brace yourself- I have to turn you on your back."

He reluctantly relinquished his hold on the spoke. "Get on with it, then."

Though she did the job as gradually as she could, Jack had to clench his teeth hard, to keep from crying out. And had to keep them clenched as she set about binding the makeshift dressings over his most profusely-bleeding wounds. Every rank and grade of seafarer- pirate or otherwise- knew the importance of staunching blood flow. When her supply of linen strips ran out, she painstakingly cut off the remnants of Jack's shirt, and utilized those as well.

When she'd finished tightening the last strip, Jack closed his eyes with a sigh, relieved to be unmoving again. His eyes stayed shut as he felt her carefully lift his head into her lap, and push the mouth of a flask against his lips. "Here- try to swallow some of this."

It tasted like water with citrus and spice. He'd have preferred rum, but he drank as instructed. And felt slightly better for it. His head cleared a little, his breathing coming somewhat less painfully. Elizabeth delicately slipped the bandanna from his forehead, moistened it with more water and began to gently sponge off his face. The sensation was surprisingly soothing; for some moments he yielded to the temptation to lie still and take comfort from it.

"Just hang on, Jack. My physician will be here soon- he'll get you fixed up," Elizabeth promised.

Jack sighed again. He didn't really want to tell her... but, being in a position of authority, she had to know.

Opening his eyes, he set a hand on her wrist, addressing her somberly. "Liz, 'tis most unlikely he'll be able ta do anythin' fer me."

Her eyes sparked with angry denial. "That's an assessment for a doctor to make, isn't it? And I don't mean somebody who's only impersonated one!"

"Luv, I don't require any sawbones ta inform me I've been stove-in too deep to caulk. The Sparrow's luck ez finally fallen short." The words spiked his own fear, and he hastened to add, "But it could've been a lot worse for me, eh? Fatally wounded whilst recovering Captain Morgan's magical sextant... better 'en finishin' on the gallows. Or succumbin' ta thirst in the doldrums. Or worst of all: spending me final years ez one of those pathetic old wretches haunting the docks, eyeing the riggings an' horizon, longing fer that seaborne life they can never have again. Captain Jack Sparrow's saga hain't gonna end that way."

Elizabeth was starting to tear up. Hearing more approaching steps, Jack cautioned, "Aw, darlin', don't be doin' that! The Pirate King can't be seen cryin' like a heartbroke schoolgirl, now can she?"

She dabbed her eyes with the bandanna, as Nuan hastened up the stairs, followed by the distinguished-looking Dr. Hui. He gave the captain's blood-spattered form a sharp concerned look, before stooping to check him. Elizabeth continued to support Jack's head, trailing gentle fingers through his stained dreadlocks.

His exam didn't hurt as much as the first. In fact, Jack realized, he seemed to be feeling less with each passing minute. A 'fading' death, then, from bleeding too deep to stem- he'd seen it before, in the aftermath of other battles. A fast cutlass stroke or cannon blast would've been preferable, but this was definitely better than a drawn-out demise from infection... days or weeks of thrashing in sweaty delirium. Still...

When Hui finally looked to Elizabeth, his grave stare confirmed everything she didn't want to know. Mindful of her position, she just nodded.

"Doctor Hui, please return to the _Raven_ to treat the other wounded. Nuan, please assist him."

As the two started down, Jack called, "An' send Mr. Gibbs!" Immediately he wished he hadn't. That shout provoked long seconds of blinding agony; he couldn't quite stifle a cry. As the terrible searing gradually ebbed, he became aware his position had changed. Elizabeth had gathered him close against herself. She was weeping freely now- tears fell on his forehead like hot rain.

"Jack, oh Jack- I never should have sent you on this venture! All this, for that wretched lump of scrap metal!"

Sparrow refrained from echoing that opinion; there was a lass here in need of comfort here. "No point in blaming yerself, darlin'. 'Could've just ez likely been about something else. 'Tis a sure thing... would've happened over something, someday. I've had me a good run... better 'en most. A merry life, and a short one..." He had to pause for breath. It was becoming a real effort to speak.

Elizabeth swiped at her eyes, bracing herself. "Jack, there's something I need to tell you."

"Then tell, by all means. Not likely ta be a more opportune moment."

"That day I left you the krakken..."

Jack flinched. "Oh, luv, did'ya have to bring that up?"

"Getting the rest of us to safety wasn't my only motive. I was very angry with you, for what you'd done to Will... to a man who'd risked everything to save you from the gallows. And you'd lied to my face about it. I thought you should a taste of your own medicine- deserved to learn what it was like to be betrayed, in the worst possible way, by somebody you'd thought you could trust. But when I said I wasn't sorry, that was to convince myself. I really hated doing it. Before, during, and after. I still have nightmares..." She paused, decided not to describe them. "I just wanted you to know," she finished.

They were silent for a minute. Not for the first time, Jack considered that she could be right- his time in the Locker might qualify as appropriate punishment for his offense against Will. He wondered if he should inform Liz, before she'd taken the decision out of his hands, he'd been seriously considering remaining aboard his ship. Perhaps no point telling her, though... probably wouldn't make her feel any better.

Heavier steps ascended the stairway. Gibbs appeared, regarding the scene with anguish. Raising his chin, Jack addressed the man with the full authority of his rank.

"First Mate Gibbs, has Physician Hui has informed you of the situation?"

"Aye, he has, Cap'in." Gibbs' voice, like his expression, was ragged at the edge, but holding firm. A good stalwart man, well worthy of a Captaincy. And, as all three of them knew, it was preferable to make that transition in the presence of a high-ranking witness.

"I hereby award command of the _Black Pearl_ to you, Joshamee Gibbs. You've served her long and faithfully. I trust you'll continue ta do her proud."

"I will. Thank ye, Cap'n Jack. An' might I say, my years sailing under yer command were the best I've had." Josh's mournful eyes moved to Elizabeth. "Liege... Mrs. Turner, my condolences." Gibbs looked like he wanted to say more, but couldn't quite find the words. "I'll strike the colors, then, Sir. Be back shortly."

Gibbs headed down to the deck. Jack managed a wee grin, realizing Gibbs was preparing to pay the traditional homage: draping the ship's flag over the body of her fallen captain.

"Ye still have a friend aboard the _Black Pearl_, Liz. Gibbs is ez loyal as they come in our profession. Levelheaded, too. I'd advise ya ta seek his advice, any time ya need advising."

"I know," Elizabeth replied shortly- obviously she was in no mood to talk business.

"Now, gettin' back ta our earlier topic of conversation: I've somethin' ta reveal ta you ez well. Somethin' which might possibly improve yer dreams. I trust you recall the naively optimistic prediction you once made; that someday I'd chose ta do the honorable and selfless thing, over what'd benefit meself."

Her eyes glowed; for a moment she appeared happy. "And I was right! You surpassed my highest expectations!"

"Ah, nice to know I've given you one good memory, luv. But what you might not realize is, dismayed as I was by Mr. Turner's plight, I might've chosen differently if you hadn't been on that deck, too... if I hadn't seen yer face." Jack grimaced in recollection. "I couldn't bear to see you looking that way, Lizzie. Absolutely couldn't bear it. So I did not, in fact, forfeit me own chance at immortality ta save bloody Will. I did it to restore him to you." Elizabeth smiled an amazed little smile. "Ergo: should you retain any lingering suspicion, as to whether I hold any grudge fer yer earlier transgression... consider that as evidence to the contrary."

"Oh, Jack, please don't say that unless you mean it! Not now!"

"Dearie, you can trust me 'cause at this juncture in time, mendacity stands ta gain me nothing. 'Tis a debt settled, water under the bridge, bilge out the scuppers, an' all that." He attempted a dismissive wave, but his hand, suddenly as heavy as lead, flopped back onto the deck. Even small movements had become laborious. He was so very tired... the fear weighed him so.

"I believe you, Captain." He felt her fingers stroking the side of his face. "I'll miss you so much, Jack Sparrow."

His reply was slow. "I expect... ta also miss you, darlin Liz. An' young Willie. Tell him, keep practicin' 'is footwork. He'll get it in time... 'tis in 'is blood..."

Jack faltered, letting his eyelids droop. He felt acute regret that he'd never see Liz's fine young whelp again. Someone else'd have to take over the lad's fencing lessons... he doubted they'd do as good a job of it.

Other faces streamed through his memory. Shipmates, rivals, fierce enemies, passing acquaintances, pleasurable company, part-time allies, a few true friends. There were several he'd have liked to pass messages on to... mostly apologies. If only it weren't so bloody difficult ta talk...

"Jack?"

The inquiry was so close he felt the breath of it on his face. Just about the only place where he still had feeling. Even the hot irons were mercifully distant.

He rallied one last time, looked up to see Elizabeth's face, right above his. So sad, and so very lovely... Actually, the most beautiful woman he'd personally known. / _Did I ever mention that to her? 'Hope I did... don't suppose I kin manage it now._ /

"Jack?" Her mouth opened slightly- the invitation was clear.

He managed a small smile, a last whisper. "Maybe... once weren't quite enough, after all...?"

She leaned closer; their lips met. This kiss bore no resemblance to that previous one; this was sincere, tender, very loving. Displacing every remaining discomfort, nearly every anxiety. He hoped he'd take the memory of it with him.

When she finally drew back, he could no longer perceive her expression- her face was just a shadowed blur. But his hearing still worked; he heard every feeling in her whispered farewell:

"Safe journeys to you, Captain Jack Sparrow."

He also heard a flapping sound, as another vague figure moved into his field of view. Human-shaped, with a black moving mass for an arm, crouching beside him. Gibbs, bearing the _Pearl's_ flag, kneeling to speak directly into his ear.

"The wind at your back forever, Sir."

A very small nod, to inform Gibbs he'd heard. Nothing more. It was too much effort to speak. Too much effort, to keep his eyes open... no point anyway, with the blur spreading to darken everything.

Too much, effort... to draw breath...

Captain Jack Sparrow let go at last, releasing the final traces of pain, of fear, of light...

xxx

_Unexpectedly, he did feel wind at his back._

_The sort of caressing, warmish sea breeze he'd often enjoyed, strolling the deck of his ship at twilight. It enveloped him like a protective embrace, gracefully swayed his weightless dreadlocks. Reassured him that all was well... he was where he was supposed to be._

_And, somebody was beside him. Somebody he knew._

_Jack smiled in his mind. / 'Seems theer weren't much ta fear, after all. /_

_He remembered now; having perished at sea, he'd passed into the care of one charged with guiding such souls into the afterlife. One who, he could be absolutely sure, was executing his responsibilities faithfully._

_One who had, indeed, forgiven him._

_Jack cheerfully turned his awareness towards the other._

_"It's very good to see you again, Will."_

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**FINIS**


End file.
